the living lost
by Suk-fong
Summary: and she glides, into his darker musings, with a mild and healing sympathy that steals away. Their sharpness ere he is aware.
1. reverse

1. Couples are not changing from my opinions. So, deal or go away. Flame me, and I'll laugh it off. I have just enough confidence in what I'm writing to not be discouraged by a flame or two. (If there are more flames than reviews, I'm either not doing well or attracting the wrong readers.)

2.** This story is rated T.** So, this is your warning. This is rated Teen- there will be physical relationships, cursing, and adult themes. If you still want to read the story swearing is at a minimum. Physical relationships will not progress to the stage that it will make people too uncomfortable to read, even if insinuations are made.

3. I don't own _Bleach_. This disclaimer applies to the entire story. If there is a change in this status, I'll be sure to let you know. Got it? Good. I'll say this once more, for the last time this story: **The **_**Bleach**_** is not** **mine**. Thank you and good day (or night, or whatever it is where you are), keep being a great audience.

4. Chapter length will very. This is a set story length, and some chapters will have more happening in them. This is just a fact of fiction, especially fiction published (or close enough) so casually.

5. Constructive criticism accepted, appreciated, and noted. If a mistake somehow confuses the story, feel free to ask questions. If you ask a question in a review that merits an answer (no, plot points will not be disclosed), I'll post the response on the next chapter.

* * *

Today is not a good day. True the sun is shinning the birds are singing, and the woman currently sitting behind the desk in the small office, is picking the raisins out of the cookies her sister packed in her bag.

'Karin, they're just raisins.' Her sister's voice sounds tiny from the speaker phone on the center of the desk.

'No, they're grapes who've died and you've put their corpses in cookies.'

Her younger twin sister sighs. 'Have you had tea since you left home?'

She throws a few more raisins into the trash bin.

'Karin…'

'Ran out of tea bags.' She admits. 'Pinta's out getting some.'

'Mhm.' she can hear her sister do the ironing on her day off. 'Now why are you really calling? Is it about the government inspector person coming today?'

'It's insulting!' She complains, now that the subject is brought up. 'I'm the only detective here, and the first time in one hundred years a case that doesn't involve a missing dog comes, and the feds swoop in and take it!'

'It's a rather gruesome case. I mean three people have been murdered in the past month.' Her sister comments. 'The Crucifix Killer-'

'Unsub.' She interrupts, 'the press gives the unsubs ridiculous names, which helps build the unsub's ego.'

'The unsub then, is quite violent. Karin, I know you're trying but I feel that having a federal agent will make you safer.'

She laughs. They both know she can take care of herself. She was the most dangerous person graduating high school.

'I know, I know. Black belt, your gun license all of that. But Karin…' Her sister's voice drops to a whisper. She leans forward to hear the words. 'Karin the messages…Karin the Cru-the unsub wants something from you…'

x

_Matron! the children of whose love,  
Each to his grave, in youth have passed,  
And now the mould is heaped above  
The dearest and the last!  
Bride! who dost wear the widow's veil  
Before the wedding flowers are pale!  
Ye deem the human heart endures  
No deeper, bitterer grief than yours._

x

'Yuzu, the unsub just writes creepy messages. They could be referring to any girl.'

'But-'

'Kurosaki, the tea's here!' An officer puts her head into her office. She nods, and dismisses the new officer.

'Yuzu everything's fine.' She reassures her sister.

The seconds tick by until her sister asks 'What's the federal agent's name again?'

'Toushirou Hitsugaya.' She says. The name rolls off the tongue quite easily.

'Do you know anything about him?'

She scoffs 'I don't have his dating profile Yuzu.'

'Of course.' Her sister is flustered.

'I gotta go-tea's here.'

'Okay. Come home early okay? Dad and Ich-nii are coming for dinner.'

'Will do. Later.' She hangs the phone up, and exits her office to enter the staffroom. Most of the officers on the force are ten years her senior, and none all to keen for a small twenty-five year old woman becoming promoted to Detective, third class. Despite being in the force for over five year she has yet to become accepted. She pours herself a cup of tea and doctors it to her liking, a teaspoon of milk, and half a jar of sugar. After the first sip, she calms down immediately.

'Kurosaki,' one of the officers calls her. 'I've got the blood splatter report. It just got faxed in.'

'Let me see it.' She takes the hand out and skims it. 'Huh…thanks. What time is the fed suppose to be here?'

'Eleven-thirty.' She looks at her watch, its quarter to eleven.

'Take him to my office when he gets here.' She calls over her shoulder.

'What does he look like?'

'Toushirou Hitsugaya-like' she answers, kicking the door open. One hand holding the blood splatter report, the other holding the deep white mug with a heart on it, she had stolen during her brief delinquent streak in sophomore year.

She walks into her office and promptly trips over legs encased in black silk suit pants. The report flies out of her hands, but she maintains a firm grip on the mug. The hot liquid however flies out of the mug and lands on the trigger of this mishap, electing a hiss of pain. Her face hits the front of her desk.

'Shit.' She groans, and turns so she sitting on the floor, with her back against her desk. She is rubbing her temples with her eyes closed. When she opens them, she is glaring at a tall man around her age, clothed in an expensive looking black silk suit. His teal shirt matches his eyes. The odd thing about his appearance, ignoring the fact that he is covered in tea, is his white hair.

She figures he's got some albinism, or he went prematurely white.

'Who the hell are you?'

'Toushirou Hitsugaya.' He says miffed. 'You are detective Karin Kurosaki I presume?'

'Yeah.' She drags herself up and moves behind her desk. 'You're forty-five minutes early.'

'Mt flight arrived early.' He says still miffed.

'…sure. That's the blood splatter report from the latest victim, which was Love Aikawa , who died two days ago. The basics are identical with the killing wound, the angle and the same force to cause that much blood is the same with the previous victims. All of which confirms that it's one unsub.' She stops waiting for him to ask a question or comment. When he doesn't she looks up from moving folders around her desk. 'What?'

'It's common practice for one to apologize when they've spilt tea on someone.' He says dryly, like he is explaining a simple math problem to a child.

'It's your fault.'

It's a standoff between the two glaring at each other. He relents first.

'Are you certain it's one unsub?'

She half smiles. 'Well…I guess there could be two psychotic killers around six foot two, one hundred and seventy pounds who kill people by drugging them with ruphies, and then ripping out their jugular and nailing them to the east wall in a crucifix pose and opening every window on the west wall, running around Karakura Town.' He doesn't smile. She doesn't bother telling him to lighten up. Neither of them wants him here. 'Well,' she checks her watch, 'we're not expected at the Cornoror's until noon. So, why don't we check out the crime scene?' It's not a question, but putting the order in question form is politer, and keeps up the pretense that his presence is very much wanted.

'It has been processed already?' he asks, doubting her department's ability. Her blood boils, and the idea to get a pot of coffee and pour it on his head, to give him second degree burns, and ruin his suit even more becomes so appealing that the only thing stopping her is the fact that she would be arrested for assault by her own officers.

'Yes.' She says tightly. 'But if you see it in person, you might get something from it.'

They head to the parking lot, and she heads to her red sports car. A flashy car really unsuitable for a detective, however she saw it in the car store and fell in love with it and couldn't bring herself to sell it. She stops when she notices he's not behind her. She searches the parking lot filled with mini-vans, and trucks and see the federal agent opening the door to a black expensive rental Volvo.

'What are you doing?'

'Going to the hotel to change.' He says, reminding her, she hasn't had her fourth cup of tea which is needed if she is not going to rip his head off.

'I'll drive you there. And then we'll head to the crime scene.'

'If you give me the address I will meet you there.' He tells her getting into the car.

'The funny thing about murders in suburbia is that all the houses look friggin' identical.'

'Then get in.' He tells her. She glares at him. This is HER investigation, and SHE is in charge, and SHE should be the one who drives. She decides to give him the damn address, and meet him at the house. She can't wait to laugh when he doesn't show up, lost in the winding streets of Karakura Town.

But Yuzu told her to be nice to the fed. And doing that would be unprofessional.

She gets in the stupid rental Volvo. She can see a small smirk on his face. She ignores him, and looks straight ahead. It is a harsh silence, and neither of the two occupants of the car spare any glances at the other.

She is not surprised at all when he pulls in to the parking lot of the most expensive and high class hotel Karakura Town has to offer.

They both leave the car and enter the hotel lobby. In one corner there is complimentary coffee and tea. Before she can reach that, she is ushered to the elevator by an impatient fed.

She follows the fed into a room on the tenth floor. He enters the closet, and she sits on the blue sofa opposite the plasma television. She notices that hooked up to the television is a blue-ray player, and a gaming system she doesn't know. She takes one of the remotes and presses the power button. All that happens is she is still staring at a black screen, but the bed raises a few inches. Eyes wide, she presses more buttons. After she is satisfied that she has severely screwed the fed's entertainment and sleeping arrangements, she pockets the remotes, after taking the batteries out.

'Are you ready?' he says, coming out of the bathroom. She looks over him, and she notices that he is wearing another black silk suit that looks expensive. This time he has a white shirt, and a black tie underneath the jacket.

'Let's go.' She leaves the couch, and exits the hotel room. He closes and locks the door behind her.

In the lobby she crosses and fills a cup of tea, and adds the milk and sugar. The fed clears his throat. She looks over her shoulder, he is standing at the door, with an annoyed expression on his face.

'I'm coming.' She grumbles. 'Keep your designer shoes on.'

In the car he waits, while she drinks her tea.

'Well?' He asks, she looks at him.

'What?'

'The address.' He reminds her.

'One-eight-four Ginen Street.' She tells him. 'Down main and take a left.'

He does as she says, and they arrive at a small bungalow with yellow police tape surrounding the yard and house.

'I believe I could find the crime scene.' He tells her. She doesn't answer, but slams the door. He follows her into the living room, where yellow markers are placed. On the east wall is a chalk outline of a body five feet up a wall.

'Who found the victim?' He asks walking the room, taking in a homely room, with the exception of the blood and coffee stains.

'His kid. Came home from a baseball game at nine-thirty, and found this. When he left at six, his dad was still alive. Single parent.' She answers.

'Time of death?'

'Finding that out today. Doc's had the body for a day.'

'Do you know how the unsub entered the house?'

She shakes her head. 'There's no sign of forced entry. As far as I can figure the unsub didn't get through the opens windows-the victim didn't open them by the way-it seems like he just walked in.'

'This room's the only one?'

She nods. 'The victim drank his coffee, and then fainted. And in three and a half hours had his jugular ripped out, and was nailed to the wall.'

The fed nods, and walks towards the south wall. He scans the fine calligraphy printed in the victim's blood. She bristles as she reads the poem again.

'Yet one smile more, departing distant sun!/ One mellow smile through the soft vapoury air/ Ere, o'er the frozen earth, the loud winds run/Or snows are sifter o'er the meadows bare/One smile on the brown hills and naked trees/And the dark rocks whose summer wreaths are cast/And the blue gentian flower, that is the breeze/Nods lonely of her beateus race that the last./ Yet a few sunny days in which the bee/Shall murmur by the hedge that skim the way,/ The cricker chirp upon the russet lea,/And man delight to linger in thy ray./ Yet one rich smile-'

'And we will try to bear. /The piercing winter frost, and winds darkened air.' He cuts her off, and looks at her. There is something disturbed in his eyes. It seems that the psychotic cruelty of the unsub has dawned on him. 'Is there always a poem?'

'Yes.' The words taste bitter, and her tongue feels numb. 'Not the same one, but all by the same poet.'

'A signature.' She nods.

He paces the room deep in thought. She doesn't move from where she stands. She has walked the room, and relived the scenario thousands of times in her head, since she got the call two days ago. She watches him start at the first marker, and he stares at the coffee stain on the walnut floor, and walks to the chalk outline. He looks at the blood splatter from the ripping of the jugular, and then to the open windows, with the screens removed, and set neatly against one wall. He then turns to the poem, and looks at it again.

She can almost see the white haired fed analyze the poem in his head. If he asks her she can tell him the meaning of each line and word. She can tell him anything about the poem, but he doesn't ask her.

She feels restless, not saying anything, but she doesn't trust herself to talk. Instead she stares at him, seeing him properly, for the first time since meeting him forty minutes earlier.

He's tall; on the other side of six three. A slender build, but she doesn't doubt he's in shape. His hair is unruly, in the most professional sense, and she wonders if he applies hair gel to get the casually windswept look. His skin is tan, which destroys the idea that his odd hair colour is due to albinism. If she remembers what her father said, too much sun is deadly to albinos. His eyes also are without the red tinge that is common to albinism. His eyes are a mixture of green and blue, leaning more towards green.

'…ideas?' He straightens, and looks at her.

She blinks, caught off guard. 'Oh…uh…well, it's not…no. What did you say?'

He sighs, and she catches the corner of a smirk. 'Are you getting distracted detective?'

Her mouth becomes slightly a jar. He must have realized she was staring at him intently. His self pride smirk becomes more evident. She closes her mouth and scowls.

'No, I was just thinking about the poem.' She lies. He raises one eyebrow but doesn't question it at all.

'I said, is there any idea how the unsub managed to get the victim pinned to the wall?'

She shakes her head. 'Aside from holding him to the wall and nailing him? No.'

'That would require more than one unsub.' He points out. She nods and checks her watch.

'Shit.'

'What?'

'We're twenty minutes late to the coroner's' She tells him. She is already headed to the door.

'Where's the coroner's?' He asks, as he unlocks the door.

'On the other side of town.' She tells him. 'It's in a bitch of a place to find. Pray to god that traffic is light.'

He pulls out of the driveway, and onto the main highway. She curses. There are a lot of cars on the road a swell.

Half an hour later, they are off the main highway, and thirty minutes away with no end of the heavy traffic in sight. He turns the radio on to check the traffic. It's told that there's an accident near the outskirts of town, and all traffic is being diverted onto the small highways. Traffic is backed up for several hours.

She bangs her head on the dashboard. 'Shit on a brick.' The trip from the crime scene to the corner's office takes fifteen minutes at most.

He looks at her. 'Shit on a brick?'

'Yuzu doesn't like fuck my life.' She tells him, and fishes around her pocket for her cell phone.

'And shit on a brick is a better alternative?' He asks.

She nods, and starts looking through her contact list. It's rather depressing that only six of the contacts of her ninety are personal. Even more so that it's in truth only three people. Her sister, her brother and her father, with two entries their cell phone numbers, Ichigo's apartment, Goat Chin's house, and the apartment she shares with her sister.

It shows how married to her work she is. Her father is just as bad as her. He barely uses his phone, and excluding his patients, his only contact with the human race is his only children. In which he is in constant and over enthusiastically in his contact in their lives. Yuzu is not much better; she lives for her family, and is also incredibly shy. She has just recently started to see a redhead grad student at the university. Ichigo and she have yet to meet him, and she is seriously considering changing the boy for stalking. It's a given rule no male is good enough for the baby of the Kurosaki family. Ichigo is actually the best of them. He has two best friends who he currently shares an apartment as they finish med school, and law school.

The whole family is anti-social if brooding Ichigo is the only one who has friends outside of the acquaintances they have for work, she thinks, as she finds her contact, and selects it.

She listens to one ring, before it is answered.

'You're late.'

'I know. But traffic's a bitch.'

'Do you know when you will approximately arrive?'

'I have no clue.' She tells him honestly. 'We haven't moved at all.'

'Right. I'll expect you in an hour.'

'Have tea ready.' She tells him. The caffeine has already left her system, and she has needed a cup of tea thirty minutes ago.

'I will.' He hangs up abruptly.

She closes her phone and looks at him. He has a crease above his nose from frowning at the snail like traffic.

'From here where do we go?' he asks.

'Up Hikage, and then left on Yabu. It's a right on Koeru then it's seventy forty-six Pai.'

He nods. Traffic doesn't move.

* * *

A/N: Here we have the first chapter of The Living Lost. I hope you all enjoy it. I should remind you that this is a horror mystery story, and as such there will be horror and some might find this topic and subject matter queasy. I myself have been banned from discussing this with my sisters because they don't enjoy gore. This is trying to be as accurate and as realistic as possible. There are few liberties I have taken, which I will mention when they occur. Please realize that this is a work of fiction, and has no connections to any murder cases that have happened at all. Thank you for reading this.


	2. mirror

The florescent lights bounce off the clean white tiles and the smell of chemicals and disinfectant makes her nostrils to wrinkle.

Her kitten heels click on the tiles, and his leather shoes make no sound as she leads him to the basement morgue, where the owner of the hospital and head doctor is waiting.

'Detective,' Doctor Ishida a tall man in his mid sixties says handing her a mug of steaming tea.

'Thanks Doc.' she murmurs.

'This is the federal agent?' He asks, but they all know it's not a question. The criminal community of Karakura Town, the police department, and the hospital all knew a federal agent would be coming to solve the only case the town's ever had involving dead bodies.

'Agent Toushirou Hitsugaya.' The two men shake each other's hands.

'Ishida.' The Doctor answers. 'Detective, I have done a full autopsy, and I believe I have some findings you'd find interesting.'

She nods, and they follow the doctor to the center of the room. The corpse of the victim lies on the table, a pale blue sheet covering his body. Clean surgical tools are lined up neatly on a tray, television monitors showing the body from different angles sit on tables with wheels. There is a clipboard filled with precise and cramp writing and a vile of blood on the desk.

'Name: Love Aikawa Age: forty five. Height: six foot two inches. Weight: two hundred and twenty three pounds.' The Doctor summarizes. 'Mr. Aikawa was in great health and physical shape. He had no existing medical problems, and lived an active lifestyle.'

'Would you sat the victim was in better condition then Kensei Muguruma?' she asks, citing the second victim.

The Doctor doesn't hesitate in his answer, 'Mr. Muguruma was in better shape most definitely.'

'Okay.' She pulls out a small red notepad, and scribbles that down.

'As I was saying, Mr. Ushoda is the first victim found within five hours of death.

'The first victim Ushoda was found approximately three days after his death. And Muguruma was found one day after.' She tells him.

'Why was the first victim found so late?'

x.

_Yet there are pangs of keener wo,  
Of which the sufferers never speak,  
Nor to the world's cold pity show  
The tears that scald the cheek,  
Wrung from their eyelids by the shame  
And guilt of those they shrink to name,  
Whom once they loved, with cheerful will,  
And love, though fallen and branded, still._

x.

'He was supposed to be on a weekend bookselling trip. Neighbors found him after he didn't pick up his cat.'

'Because of the early find, I was able to be much more accurate. From rigor mortis, and the maggots found in his jugular, I would put his death in between eight to eight thirty that night.'

'Did he fight back, or do anything?' she looks at the victim. He was big and muscular; she can't believe that he did not go down without a fight, almost as much as she can't believe someone killed Muguruma.

'No, however I found an almost lethal dose of benzodiazepines in his blood.'

'Benzodiazepines?' she asks.

'More commonly known as a date rape drug.' The fed tells her. 'You mentioned before that the previous victims had been drugged.'

'Yes, but because of the period of time elapsed between their deaths and the autopsies, all that could be concluded was that the victims had been drugged, however the level, and the exact drug could not be identified.' The Doctor tells the fed, whose eyes flicker with understanding.

'How do you think the benzodiazepines got into his system?'

The Doctor shrugs. The bright lights hit the slightest bit of grey in his distinguished hair. 'O would assume they way anyone would receive a "date rape drug" as you call it, slipped into his drink.'

'That would explain the coffee stains.' She thinks aloud. The victim was sitting in the room, drinking coffee when the drug, the benzodiazepines hit his system. He would loose control of his muscles, and the coffee cup would fall to the ground.

She is mulling over the scenario in her head, trying to figure out how the unsub got in the house unnoticed. Of course, that is assuming that the unsub did not have a weapon, and threaten the victim to let the unsub in, and add the drug to his coffee and making him drink it. She doesn't like the idea of the unsub killing that way; it seems too unplanned, or unorganized. Too…risky. That's the right word. The unsub's signature takes time, time that might not be present if the victim draws attention to himself, if he fights the unsub.

'You said almost lethal amount, correct?' The fed asks. 'Am I right in assuming that the victim was unconscious for the subsequent events?'

The Doctor shakes his head. 'No, our victim was very much conscious when he was bailed to the wall, and could see everything. However, due to the benzodiazepines he was unable to move any muscles. He was temporality paralyzed.'

'How long would the paralysis last?' he asks.

The Doctor tilts his head, and turns the fountain pen in his hand as he ponders the question. 'That amount in his body…given his mass, I would say no more than an hour. However, for someone like the Detective, under five foot and less than one hundred pounds, that dosage would kill, at the very least.'

She can't stop the muttered 'I am five foot.' From coming out. It echoes around the room, and she flushes. The Doctors ignores that, and so does the fed, but she can see his smirk out of the corner of her eye. 'So he was conscious when…that happened?' she motions to the man whose eyes are still open, referring to the ripped off jugular.

'Very much so.' She shudders. 'First though, he was nailed to the wall.' The Doctor lifts the victim's arm, and shows them the two puncture holes, one in the center of the back of the hand, the other in the elbow. Both holes are one inch in diameter. 'I found traces of iron and chromate in the body, coming from the nails. It is the same type that was found in the other bodies. It's a unique combination, one that I believe is found only for this purpose. These nails were placed in both positions on both arms, the nails broke the capitate bone, and the ulna at the olecranon process.'

She writes that down in her little notebook, along side a doodle of the human body. She draws "x"'s where the nails are on the victim.

'And now, for the particularly nasty part. The victim was completely conscious, when a knife with a serrated blade, from the edges of the cut, opened the front of his neck.' The Doctor looks at the two of them. 'You might not see it, but Detective, Agent, someone with knowledge of surgery or who works on fine detail would be able to do this.'

She makes another note. She knows that all of this will appear in the Doctor's autopsy report, but she finds it comforting for her to do something with her hands as they deal with a dead body.

'The cuts start superficially, cutting the sternodeio mastoid muscles, and the internal jugular vein. However the cuts become deeper, cutting the platysma muscles which along with the sternodeidomastoid are completely removed. The knife also cuts the Retromanoridular vein, and the common carotid artery, both the external and internal carotid artery, and the superior thyroid artery. Those also are completely removed from the body. The lingual artery is nicked, but not removed. It is at this point, the victim died.'

'I would hope so.' She hears the fed mutter under his breather. She shudders again. It is the first interesting case that has happened in the past century in Karakura Town, but it's also a particularly nasty one as well.

'The Hyoid bone and the hypothyroid membrane are also missing.' The Doctor checks his clipboard of notes. 'These missing organs are identical to the missing organs in the other two victims.'

'That sick son of a bitch.' She says. 'Why would he cut those out?'

'I leave that to you Detective.' The Doctor says. 'There are sick minds out there. One cannot try to explain what does on in their heads.'

'Would there be enough blood to write the poem?' The fed inquires.

'Yes. That's why there's little blood spatter at the crime scene, a majority of it is used to write the poems.' The Doctor says turning away.

'Is that all?' she asks.

'Yes Detective.' The Doctor walks them to the door. 'I will fax you a report once my notes are typed and I have transcribed the tapes.'

She nods. 'Thank you Doctor.' She shakes his hand, she is thanking him not only for the tapes, but agreeing to do the autopsy, and be the forensic scientist involved on this case. He catches the meaning and nods. He shakes the fed's hand and they walk to his car in silence.

She is disturbed about what she saw and found out in the autopsy. She isn't stupid, she really isn't. She knew becoming a detective would include dealing with messy and gruesome things such as dead bodies. And her childhood working at her father's clinic, as well as her mother's death surrounded her with dad bodies. She should be use to it. But, as her sister has pointed out, the dead bodies they saw as children had most of their body parts present, granted the odd finger, or leg could be missing, especially with veterans.

She is silent, and barely notices when he brings her a cup of tea as they enter the car. The silence continues as they drive from the hospital to the police station. She exits the car, and looks at the almost setting sun, and decides she doesn't want to pursue the case anymore today.

'Let's call it a day and we can get a lot done bright and early tomorrow. Say eight?' she asks, forcing a cheery voice. When he nods she lets out a breathe she didn't know she was holding. She doesn't say goodbye, and she walks straight to her fancy red car and gets in.

She rests her head on the steering wheel. 'Oh God…oh Lord, please.' She says, she feels the hot wet tears fall. She closes her eyes and swallows hard. When she opens her eyes, she glares at herself in the mirror, and angrily whips away the tears. She turns the key, and her flashy car purrs to life. She tears out of the parking lit seeing his expensive, black rental Volvo still in the parking lot.

.

She takes the stairs two at the time until she opens number Seven. The smell of freshly bake bread, and something cheesy hits her.

'I'm home!' she yells, and chucks her keys at the small wooden table. Her black kitten heels are kicked off and nudged next to bright pink stiletto heels.

'Welcome home.' Her sister's light brown hair and sunny disposition greet her. She is wrapped in a quick hug, and then let go. She follows her twin into the kitchen where her father and brother are lounging wine glasses in hand.

'Hey Karin.' Her brother nods. Her siblings share their mother's appearance, with light brown hair, though her brother tends to become a more vibrant orange in the summer for some reason. She however favours her father with pale as snow skin, and black hair. Though her eyes and height are her mother's. Her siblings both received their father's height and brown eyes.

'Hey.' She pours herself a glass of red wine.

'How was work honey?' her father asks, he is calm for once. Though she sees him spotting bruised knuckles from her sister's wooden spoon.

'I just came back from Ishida's for the autopsy.' She tells them, enjoying the wine.

'Oh? What did you learn?' her brother, the ever learning final year med student asks.

'The guy's whole throat was cut out and removed.' She says. Yuzu squirms.

'His whole throat?' her father asks interestedly.

'Well his hyoid bone, and the hypothyroid thing and the platysm-whatever and the sternodei-'

'Sternodeidomastoid?'

'Yeah, that. And all the carotid arteries and the superior whatever. And the jugular and the-'

'Karin!' Yuzu pleads, her brown eyes wavering. 'Please no dead bodies at dinner.'

Instant guilt and regret hits her like bullets.

'Yeah sorry Yuzu. I…Let's not talk shop tonight.'

'Thank you.' Yuzu says, and starts dishing food on the plate set she chose. She let Yuzu go full range in decorating their apartment. Her only condition was that the pink should be used sparingly. 'Dinner!' she calls although they are all in the kitchen already. The remaining family members line themselves around the table, as Yuzu puts plates with vegetables, pork chops, and macaroni and cheese in front of each of them. The center piece is a basket filled with Yuzu's homemade bread.

'So Karin, what's the federal agent like?' Yuzu asks.

'Hey, I thought we couldn't talk shop!' Their father complains. He is ignored as per usual.

'What's his name?' Ichigo asks, taking some bread.

'Toushirou Hitsugaya.' She says making a face. 'He's…' she realizes she doesn't know much about him or anything other than his expensive taste in clothing, cars and hotels. He's rather quiet. When she thinks of hotels, she's guiltily reminded of all the hotel remotes she stole and the fact she screwed around in his hotel room to make it uncomfortable.

'Earth to Karin! He's what?' her brother asks.

'I don't know. I don't know anything about him, he's really quiet.'

Her father gasps. 'Miss Nosey Kurosaki doesn't know anything about Toushirou? It must be love!' he says excitedly. Her father goes on and on about how the love between she and the fed is so strong if she hasn't pried into his background. He talks about how excited his spitfire daughter has finally found someone to cool her heels. To metaphorically throw water on her to calm her down. She throws the bread crusts at him.

'Shut up old man! It's not like that. He's just not on my radar.' She says. It's a lie. He's on her radar, if only just because of the way they met.

'Don't throw food!' Yuzu reprimands her.

'Sorry.' She smiles at her sister.

Dinner passes the way any dinner passes in the Kurosaki household. Isshin says something stupid, Ichigo and her groan and argue. Yuzu stops the fights and serves dessert. All three siblings do the dishes, Ichigo washing, her drying and Yuzu putting the dishes away, while their father drinks wine.

At quarter past ten, her brother drives their father home and then heads to his own apartment, near Ishida's hospital, where he's interning in the neurology department.

'I'm gong to bed now.' She announces to her sister, who has a classic Bronte book, and a blanket curled up on the cough. 'G'night.'

'Good night Karin, sweet dreams.' Her sister wishes.

'Sweet dreams Yuzu.' She returns, and closes the door to her bedroom.

Sleep barely comes to her.

* * *

A/N: Here is the second chapter. I tried to make the autopsy as realistic as possible, drawing on my mother with twenty plus years in the medical field and autopsy experience. However, she doesn't like talking about them, and she only has told me the less graphic violent autopsy she has participated in.

For that reason, I was given a medical textbook, and she only checked the facts about some things, such as the serrated edge of a knife tearing tissue more painfully then a smooth edge. The iron chromate compound the nails are made of is more specifically Iron (III) chromate; it is created from a reaction by potassium chromate and iron (III) nitrate. It was discovered in 1817, and to the bets of my knowledge is rarely used. My father would not elaborate further on any chemical properties that it is suitable for. Benzodiazepines is not just a singular drug, but in fact a family of psychoactive drugs. It results in sedative, hypnotic, anxiolytic, anticonvulsant, muscle relaxant, and amnesia action. The exact strand of benzodiazepines in this is Diazepam, which in higher dosages causes sedation. The usual dosage is 10mg, however the dosage range in the victims are between 15-25mgs.

This information is strictly said and known due to research and drawing on my parents knowledge and expertise in the science and medical fields. Additional research from the web was also required to be more specific. I'm telling you these small details, because they don't come up specifically at all in the story, and I would like you to know those.

Thank you for reading and I hope you see fit to see the next chapter as it comes.


	3. butterfly

She comes into her office at seven thirty, she has too much concealer hiding the bags under her eyes, and she has her first cup of tea heading to work.

She stops and stares. The fed is sitting on the couch in her office, sipping coffee from a black mug. One she knows was residing on a shelf on one of the many bookcases lining the west wall. He has a pile of papers in front of him, looking very much at home in HER office. And he's half an hour early.

'Morning.' He says casually.

She sits in her desk, and looks at the files already pulled and put in order. She can't find the autopsy report, and she knows she texted the officer on late night duty to put the report on her desk.

'Is that the autopsy report?' she demands. He nods and continues reading it. 'Well?' she waits for him to gibe the autopsy report back to her.

'It's interesting. Do you have any idea why anyone would want the front part of a person's throat?' he asks, flipping to the next page.

'Cannibalism? Some weird throat fetish?' She asks. He looks at her.

'Who has a throat fetish?'

'I do.' She lies. It's actually an eye fetish she has. Any man with smothering eyes can turn her insides to mush, and make her say stupid things.

'Right. I was looking over the files that were sent regarding this case, and I found there were no victim files.'

She refuses to blush. She, in a childish move that she will admit to, sent the victim files after than what would is proper. It would be their luck that he hadn't received them. She opens one tan file folder. 'Hachigen Ushoda, age sixty nine, widowed. He was the owner of a rare and specialty book store. A nice guy, he was like the jolly giant. Never hurt a fly.' She tells the fed scanning the file. 'The other two I can understand, how the unsub nailed them to a wall. But him…' she tosses the file at him. He catches it and scans the first victim's stats, and lets a low whistle out.

'He's the first victim?' the fed asks. She nods. 'Any violent people? Secrets?'

'None.' She tells him, drowning the last bit of tea, and tossing the cardboard cup into the garbage. 'No one hated him. He was polite, nice, and kept to himself. His death was like…a slap to the face. No one was expecting it.'

The fed chews on his lip, as he leafs through the file, stuffing the picture and notes. He closes the file and sets it beside him on the couch.

x.

_Weep, ye who sorrow for the dead,  
Thus breaking hearts their pain __relieve__;  
And graceful are the tears ye shed,  
And honoured ye who grieve._

x.

'And the second victim?'

'Kensei Muguruma.' She says, and the feelings of upset and vile tumble around her stomach. The second victim made this case so much worse, to her. 'He was…he was the former detective first class. He retired two months after I became Detective. He was my mentor, and the best damn Detective.' She forces her voice neutral. The fed's eyes never leave hers. She looks at the framed picture on her desk of the two of them. 'I was a punk. He never really arrested me…just told me to straighten up and…' she stops, and turns to the open file. 'Kensei Muguruma, fifty four, in amazing shape. Retired and married to Mashiro Kuna who was on a trip with her best friend when he was killed.'

'Who found the body?'

'She did.' She admits. 'She was um…well she's running around with green hair. I don't know if it's a psychotic break down or…'

She thinks back to when she was trying to console her mentor's wife. She was in chipper form, and wanted to show off her new hair. She chases the woman down several streets, trying to get a statement.

She hands him the file. He reads it wordlessly, paying more attention to that victim, than the first.

'Is there any connection?' he asks.

'Between the bookseller, the retired Detective, and the mechanic?' she asks, and shakes her head. She motions to the wall behind her. Pictures of all the victims and their families are pinned to it. Different colours of thread attach them to areas and people. But no thread connects each victim to each other. 'They all belonged to the library.' She points out. 'And were part of the University Discipline Committee.' The fed's raised eyebrow asks for elaboration.

'A committee of ten people decides whether or not a student who has displayed academic dishonesty is allowed to continue with their education.' She explains 'It's made up of professors, lawyers, doctors, teachers. Really, anyone of status. But it's like jury duty. There's a pool of over three hundred members, and for each…incident ten people from that pool are chosen. The records of each person for the trails are sealed. Yuzu's trying to get me the ones they sat on, if they sat on any.'

'Yuzu?' he asks.

'My sister. She works at the university.'

He nods and processes the fact.

'We have no real connections between the victims.' He states, 'However I don't believe that the killings are random. The unsub is very prepared, and organized.'

'Maybe it's a connection on a personal level. They all ate at the same restaurant, and the unsub was their waiter.' She suggests.

'Maybe. We don't have any leads that work, but now that the drug is known we can start searching for it.'

She nods. 'We would have done that earlier, however there are a lot of drugs that could knock a person out, or temporally paralyze them. She tells him.

'Benzodiazepines can't be that common.' The fed doesn't say anything, but stands and stretches. 'Where do you find Benzodiazepines, besides rapists?' she wonders.

'At a club. Get your coat.' He says, and holds the door open for her.

'Uh…hold your horses. It's eight thirty in the morning. These clubs close at three. No bar tender, manager, whatever will be open for a while.'

The fed considers that, and sits down. 'You said that there were poems left at each crime scene?'

'Yeah.' She hands him the photos of the crime scenes. 'William Cullen Bryant.'

'An eighteenth century British poet.' The fed says.

'Yeah. The first victim's poem was Consumption.'

'Ay, thou art for the grave; they glances shine/Too brightly to shine long; another spring/ Shall deck her for men's eyes-but not for thine-/ Sealed in a sleep which knows no wakening. /The fields for thee have no medicinal leaf, /And the vexed ore no mineral of power;/ And they who love thee wait in anxious grief /Till the slow plague shall bring the final hour./ Glide softly to thy rest then; Death should come /Gently, to one of gentle mould like thee, /As light winds wandering through groves of bloom /Detach the delicate blossom from the tree. /Close thy sweet eyes, calmly, and without pain; /And we will trust in God to see thee yet again.' He recites.

She nods. 'One of my favourites.' He looks at her and she offers a bit more of herself. 'My mom was a prof at the University, Eighteen Century English Literature. I wrote my thesis on his poems.'

'Your thesis?' he asks.

'Yeah I got a degree in English Literature.' It's a rather completely useless degree foe her line of work. However her mother read to her poetry of his, and she fell in love with it. Both she and Yuzu received their degrees in English Literature. Though Yuzu is currently working on her PHD on the subject, working as a TA at the university.

'I have my doctorate in nanochemistry.' The fed says. She looks at him. Somehow she's not surprised, but he seems young.

'How old are you?'

'Twenty-six.' He says stiffly. She doesn't comment, but does the math. It takes at least two years to complete a Masters, and four years for an undergraduate degree. To do enough research to receive a PHD…he must have…

'How old were you when you graduated high school?' she blurts out.

'Fourteen.' He says after a period of silence, she nods. He's extremely smart, and lecturing to students his own age doesn't suit him. Not that being a federal agent suits him either. No, she thinks as she looks the fed over that a CEO or a president of a company suits him better. He dresses too expensively for a federal agent's salary, so she bets he comes from money.

She wonders what it's like. True her father is a doctor, and she's never gone without, but she and her sister, her brother and father don't walk around in designer clothes.

He clears his throat, and she looks back at his face.

'The poem at the second victim was…October by Bryant, I believe?'

She nods. 'All the poems chosen by the unsub refer to change. Consumption more about death the November and October, which refer to the ending of the seasons, fall into winter.'

'The unsub has fine calligraphy skills.' He says. 'Each word is written very carefully with the right hand.'

'Why would you say the Unsub was right handed?' she asks.

He shows her the photograph of the writing. She leans in closer for a better view and smells his aftershave. She decides she likes the smell.

'If the unsub used his left hand there would be a drag, and the words would be smeared.' She takes the picture from him and sits beside him. Their knees bump. His are encased in black silk, and she wears a black pencil skirt.

'I'll give you that.' She tells him. 'A steady hand and a calligraphy artist…'

'Calligraphy demands a steady hand.' The fed says. 'Perhaps we aren't looking for a surgeon, but for someone who can take a steak knife and cut the throat.'

'But how would they know what to cut? I doubt there are people walking along with knowledge of human anatomy, steady hands and a passion for calligraphy.' She argues.

He sighs, and she wants to laugh for some reason.

They bat ideas around about the profile of the unsub. An hour in, she goes for tea, and brings him grudgingly a black coffee in the mug of hers he stole. When she returns to her office she finds all the furniture pushed back, and he has taken index cards from her desk, and laid out a time line on the floor. She perches herself on the seat of the couch, and watches him on his hands and knees muttering to himself. She doesn't ask content to watch him, as his coffee gets cold. She thinks about each crime scene over and over. All of them play put identically.

He stands up and shakes his head. 'I can't figure it out. There has to be a trigger, but there's nothing to suggest a trigger.'

'How long had the Benzodia-whatever had been in the third victim?' she asks.

'According to the report around five minutes before he became paralyzed.' He tells her.

She nods, still thinking. 'How long does it take to carve someone's throat?'

'I can't say I've tried it.' He says dryly. She bites her lip. Until they know, they can't be accurate with anything.

'Okay. Get your coat.' She tells him, and exits her office. He follows her.

This time they take her flashy red sports car. There are only two seats, which makes it very unpractical. He doesn't say anything.

She adjusts her gun so it doesn't dig into her back, or ruin the appositely.

They drive out of the parking lot, faster than the speed limit.

'Am I right to assume speeding limits don't apply to the Detective?' he asks. She notices he's holding very tightly to the dashboard. Funny her brother and father do that when she drives.

'You know what they say about assume.' She tells him as she races down the empty main street. 'You make an ass out of "u" and "me"'

'And you know what they say about speed limits.' He says.

'No, what?'

'If people obey them, they don't die!' she laughs at the slightly white look on his face. Just because, she takes the corner on two wheels, and drifts loudly to a stop at the Butcher's store.

She looks at the fed's face. His knuckles are white, and he has a death grip on the dashboard, and the door handle. When he realizes that they have come to a stop in one piece, he throws off his seatbelt and scrambles out of the car, slamming the door in his wake.

'Never again' he swears. 'You are never driving anywhere again. I'll have your license suspended!'

'I'm the law here fed.' She reminds him as she strolls into the Butcher's shop. He follows her after composing himself.

'Hello Moto.' She says to the man with an apron stained in pig's blood.

'Hello Detective Kurosaki, and…'Moto trails off.

'Agent Toushirou Hitsugaya.' He answers.

She likes Moto. She and Yuzu come here regularly for fresh meat.

'What can I help you with today?' The Butcher asks.

'Do you, in the back by any chance happen to have a few full adult pigs?' she asks.

She remembers her brother telling them in med school they dissected pigs because of the anatomy of a pig and a human are extremely similar. They have all the same parts, though they don't look the same.

'I do. Can you tell me why?'

'To find out how long it took for the unsub to kill the victim, we need to run a few tests.' The fed answers.

The Butcher nods, 'Well, if there's anything I can do to help get the crucifix killer in jail.'

'Thank you. And would you happen to have any serrated knives?' she asks as he leads them to the freezer where six adult pigs hang.

'Serrated?'

'Not a smooth edge, a jagged edge, like a steak knife.' The fed explains. The Butcher nods.

'I have some. Will I still be able to sell the meat?'

'What's the market on pig's throat?' she asks. The butcher blinks and grins.

'Non-existent.'

'Then sell away.' She tells the back of the Butcher. She steps to one pig. 'So I've drugged and nailed the victim to the wall. Because they're drugged, nailing them is fairly easy.'

'Here.' The Butcher hands her a serrated knife.

'Thanks. So I trace the front of the throat. It's superficial, just a light cut.' She walks through the movement, and then presses harder. 'And then I want to go deeper, to ensure they die. So I press harder. Hard enough to cut the skin and the veins, arties, bones and all that jazz.' She glances to the fed who is frowning; the small crease appears between his eyes. 'And then I carve out all of the stuff I cut, so you can see the trachea, and epiglottis.' She does so to the pig, and fails to catch the flesh that falls. 'Ew.'

'Is that what he does?' The Butcher says. She turns to face the man who has grown a bit green. She had forgotten he is in the room.

'If I have done this before,' the fed says taking the knife from her hands and heading towards another pig, 'I am faster, and able to kill without unnecessary cuts.' He goes through the kill easily and neatly. The flesh falls to the ground. The fed checks his watch and turns to her. 'That can be done in around three minutes.'

The realization hangs in the idea that the killer takes less then four minutes to kill.

'Thank you.' She says numbly, 'I think we're done here.' She shakes the Butcher's hand, and pays him for his trouble.

She and the fed leave. He doesn't protest as she drives.

'The longest part would be the nailing and the poem. That's the riskiest part.' She says.

'But if the unsub knows their schedules…the victim's son has a game every week, the second victim's wife was away, the first victim was suppose to be on a trip; he can plan accordingly.' The fed points out.

She checks the clock, and switches the clutch. 'It's close to noon; I think we can wake some creepy bartenders now.' She starts the car in the direction of the club district. A place she spent time in, when she was a youth running around with the soccer gang.

She passes the mainstream clubs she's ventured into as a mature woman and goes to the outskirts, to the run down bars and seedy clubs she spent her youth in.

'Haven't been here in awhile.' She mutters.

'Are you sure that we should start here?' he asks.

'Yeah. You will find date rape drugs in the mainstream stuff, but easier to find people in the know in the seedy places.'

'You speak from experience?' it's not a question.

'Mhm. Me and the guys were punks. Got cheap liquor, and smokes here. They don't check IDs'

'It's amazing you became a cop,' she hears him say, 'The guys?'

She closes her eyes, and remembers her childhood best friends and the shenanigans they got themselves into. 'Four guys. They were my best friends.'

'Were?'

'High school's not life.' She tells him, as she parks the car. 'You grow up.'

'What are they doing now?' he asks.

'Donny's in marketing. Ryohei has some computer thing. Kazuya's married. And Hieta…died a while back. Cancer.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be. It was his own damn fault. He smoked like a chimney. Actually…'she trails back, lost in past years, 'last time I saw them was his funeral.'

'I had a friend.' He says, she looks at him. It's an unexpected offering, 'Momo.' The way he says her name, she sounds more like a lover than a friend. The way his eyes sparkle, she knows that Momo ruined him for every other girl. It's not fair; all of the good ones get ruined by a girl who loves him more than anything. 'She died in a car crash six years ago.'

'They tend to kill people, car crashes.' She tells him as they head to a seedy bar. 'My mom died in one of them when I was five.'

'And you drive like that?' he asks incredulously.

'Well it's not like cars are evil.' She shrugs, 'you know how some people get thrown off a horse and never ride again? Well yeah my mom died, but I'm not gonna let that stop me from driving fast.'

They leave it at that.

The first place they find is full of shifty characters and stains on the floor. The manager points them to another place.

They hop scotch all around the street, until they arrive at a particularly sleazy bar. She remembers quitw vividly as the place where the bartender slipped something on her drink. She was saved by the guys that night, and Muguruma arrested the bartender. He's been serving fifteen to her satisfaction.

'And what can I do for you folks?' the manager asks. His hair is obviously fake and he leers at her. She tries to pull her skirt, already to her knees lower.

The fed flashes his badge, and the manager stands back.

'I'm sorry Agent, I have really nothing-'

'Benzodiazepines.' The fed says bluntly, 'Someone's been using an awful lot of it. In fact, enough to kill people. We have enough evidence pointing to this place for me to shut it down completely.'

'It's not me I swear.' The manager whines.

'But you're the one who's going to take the fall. Unless you can give me a name.'

The small dilated pupils in the manager's eyes dart around. He reminds her of a rat, sleazy, seedy and cornered against the wall by a cat. But the image of the fed as a cat doesn't fit. Maybe a lion or a giant predator. A dragon maybe, slick smart fierce and deadly powerful and scary.

'There's this guy…the deals go down here. He's come and bought a lot of stuff.'

'What does he look like?'

'I dunno.' The manager squeals. He reminds her of a pig. 'The guy wore a black hoodie. Never saw his face, never saw him before. Tall…like your height. That's all I know. I swear.' The fed turns disgusted and walks away. 'WAIT! WAIT! Are you going to arrest me?'

Outside, he looks at her. 'He gave us nothing.'

'No, he came here. So…the unsub must…' she trails off. They are still at square one with no idea how to get further. She thinks and thinks. But she knows that the end is unknown, and doesn't know what to do.

'Three dead in four weeks.' He says harshly as they drive back to the station. The clock tells her it's almost five in the afternoon. 'That's ten days between kills. We have less then seven days before the unsub kills again.'

'I know.' She says softly.

'And we have no idea who the next victim will be.' The fed is angry, his teal eyes glitter dangerously. She wonders if he knows that, and that it feels like the accusing tones are directed at her.

'Don't you think I KNOW THAT?' she yells, 'I've been looking for this fucking bastard for longer than you and I STILL don't have any damn clues-'

'Shut up.' He orders. She flinches involuntary, as she parks the car.

'What the he-' then she hears it too. The faint beeping coming from under her seat. Her eyes wide, she stares at him in horror. She has frozen at a critical time, and can't move.

He can though. He presses the trigger for her seatbelt, and unlocks the door. He grabs her waist, and pulls her from the car. As the car explodes he pushes her to the ground and covers her body with his. She has his scent surrounding her, and his body shielding her.

After a few minutes he gets off her, she sits up, not really noticing her hands have knotted themselves in his silk shirt.

'Are you okay?' he asks softly supporting her. She nods, blinks and then swallows. She tries to shake the numbness off.

'Are you?'

'Yeah.' He looks at her fancy red car, which is now really a shell on wheels, the flames blowing themselves out by the wind. 'Someone thinks we're close.' He helps her stand, and she notices him wince.

'You lied.' She tells him. 'You're hurt.' She drags him to her office, and he perches himself on her desk.

'It's just a flesh wound. He tries to tell her.

'Take it off.' She ignores him, and gets the disinfectant and gauze. He grudgingly takes off his shirt and lets her see the gash, which looks worse than it actually is, she notes thankfully.

'I'm using disinfectant.' She warns him, and dabs it on. He flinches, but doesn't say anything.

It's silent as she cleans and bandages his wound. It's...intimate. It's…she doesn't like the word that fits in that sentence because that is opening a can of worms she doesn't want open.

'I'm not going to thank you.' She tells him as she finishes his bandages. Thank you and I'm sorry are four words that only one person hears from her.

He catches her wrist. 'I wouldn't expect anything more from you.' She doesn't try to shake him off, but she moves so she can see his eyes. His eyes never leave hers.

'Good cause you're not getting anymore.' She tells him. She's captured by those eyes which are a smothering teal that she really doesn't know what to do.

She realizes that his hand has moved from her wrist, and their fingers are intertwined. She's aware that she has walked forward so she's between his legs, and they're so close and…

She's not stupid. She really isn't. She knows that since she's met him, she's been a bundle of nerves, and that the tension between them isn't angry, it's sexual. And she knows she's been staring at him wanting to know. And he's being doing the same to her. And really the only thing stopping them is their jobs because this is completely unprofessional and he closes the distant between them.

When they break for air, she is almost on top of him.

'We've got the case.' She reminds him, and pulls away bright red. He's smirking, proudly. She refuses to let him see the happy smile on her face as she fixes her clothes due to his wandering hand. He buttons up his shirt, and they return to discussing the case.

The only difference is she is sitting almost in his lap on the couch, and he plays with her hair as he ponders ideas.

She excuses herself to the washroom, and when she returns she finds her sister in her office talking to him.

'Karin! There you are,' she receives a hug from her sister. 'You said you'd be working late with Mr. Hitsugaya, so I brought you two some dinner.'

'Thank you for bringing dinner for Karin and myself.' she's surprise to hear her name sound so…possessive in his tones which have become husky.

Yuzu's eyes widen. 'Not at all Mr. Hitsugaya. I'm glad you and Karin are working so closely together on this case. It's very…' her sister pauses, trying to find the word. She freezes, praying her sister doesn't say anything. 'Close to home this case.' Her sister finishes. 'It's not every day we get murders like this thank god.'

'Thank god.' he echoes.

'Well I'll be off.' Yuzu says linking arms with her, and leading her out of the office and hearing range. 'Oh Karin, I'm so happy for you!'

'What? Why?' she asks, feeling a bit stupid.

'You and Mr. Hitsugaya! Oh its obvious Karin, you two are going to be so happy.'

'Yuzu,' she says patiently, as they walk to her sister's car. 'There's nothing really going on. And if there is, it's nothing but a fling. As soon as we catch the unsub, he's leaving.'

'Oh but you two seem to be a perfect couple.'

'It's just a fling.' She tells her sister, as she prepares to drive off.

'Will you be home late?' Yuzu asks. She considers, and realizes that it most definitely will be a late night at the office.

'Yeah.'

'Are you sure you and-'

'It's just a fling.' She repeats and her sister nods, then drives away, waving.

She waves back and feels her stomach flip.

'It's just a fling.' She repeats.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for all the reviews, and such. I've given you the longest chapter so far. A lot of typing, and since I'm juggling another fledgling baby with my writing partner. Maybe the romance is a bit fast, but there's tension…there was always tension!


	4. crown

She wakes up nestled within Egyptian silk sheets, feeling more rested than she has since this case started. She notices he's not in the bed, but she can hear the shower; she debates about joining him, and have a replay of last night, but the sound of running water is cut before she had resulted to a decision.

She waits, and he emerges with a towel around at his waist. He sees her and smiles.

'Good morning.'

She smiles back. 'Morning.'

He crosses to the closet, and pulls on a pair of boxer shorts, and then joins her on the bed. She notices guiltily that it's not comfortable due to the missing remotes hidden in her closet. He pulls her into his arms, and she cuddles. She could get use to this.

'Karin,' He says, kissing her hair. She loves how he makes her name sound so…precious. It makes her feel important. '…we need to talk.'

She is dreading this conversation, but knows it has to happen. They are both legal and consenting adults, but they are coworkers, if only for a little while. And affairs in the office rarely work or are looked upon nicely. She thinks if they hold out on sleeping with each other, until this case is done, it may be okay. But he's going to go far away on his next assignment. She wonders if he beds women on all his assignments, but already knows he doesn't.

'Yeah?' She answers, deciding to play dumb, but then decides against it. Playing dumb will only cause a lawyer more painful ordeals.

'Why didn't you tell me?' He asks.

She is confused now. Then afraid. What if he knows? But that's ridiculous.

He _can't_ know.

How could he know?

The only people who know are her family.

And her professor, and her Teaching people she knows that don't remember her or _it_ all.

'"The Living Lost."' He says, and time stops.

She can feel her heart beat too fast for it to be considered healthy. She doesn't know how he knows, but he knows.

And if he knows…

'You wrote it.' He continues, and she knows he knows. She's tense in his arms. 'You wrote a six hundred page story depicting and describing the murders of seven people in the exact way the unsub is murdering these people.'

She tears herself away from his arms, and jumps out of the bed. She has one sheet wrapped around herself.

'How the hell did you know this?' She says dangerously, she hasn't told anyone. She hasn't shown _anyone_. That story had become the skeleton in her closet hidden and smooshed between a collection of Shakespearian sonnets, and a medical textbook in her office.

'Yuzu told me. Tell me what this is Karin.' His voice is dangerous. She sees her senior project laying in plain view on the walnut desk.

She debates between telling him or not. She debates on getting dressed and leaving. She debates on breaking down and crying.

'Tell me Karin.' His tone gives no room for any other answer but the truth. She hates him for this.

She inhales a shaky breath and starts, 'My thesis was on William Cullen Bryant.' She tells him. 'But we had another project, a senior project."

She pauses and licks her lips, "We had to take the subject for our thesis and write a story about it. I decided to write a murder mystery. There was this killer, who would drug his victims and nail them to the east wall in the position of the crucifix. The killer would cut out their throats, and leave a poem of Bryant's written in the victim's blood. All of the windows on the west wall would be open, and the killer would only kill at night.' She says numbly, angry, and sad.

All of her emotions are bubbling over. She is betrayed and she has freed her most concealed secret.

'Why the windows?' He asks.

She swallows. Back then, she had studied several crime reports of sick, twisted murders and had taken details she had found the grisliest to add gore to her story. At twenty one she wanted shock value; she wanted to make an impact.

'The sun rises in the east, and sets in the west. The mentality of the killer was that the victim's soul would fade with the setting sun.'

.

_The praise of those who __sleep__ in earth,  
The pleasant memory of their worth,  
The hope to meet when life is past,  
Shall __heal__ the tortured mind at last._

_._

'And the killer was never found.'

He says, looking at her. A statement rather than a question, 'And the narrator, which is the police reporter, is killed at the end.'

She doesn't answer.

'Who knows about this?'

And still she doesn't answer. She is too…overwhelmed, unprepared for this attack on her psyche.

'Who _knows_ about this Karin?' He repeats again.

'Yuzu, my Dad, my brother, my professor and the TA.' She says her face void of emotion.

He curses. 'It's convenient isn't it? You write the damn story, but you don't know who the killer is?'

That snaps her awake from her silent break down.

'You think I did it, don't you? You think _I_ killed them?'

'I don't know Karin. All I know is that the victims were drugged, and they obtained the drugs from the same bar you used to go to. The way the victims are killed were exactly how _you_ wrote it. Your favourite poet's work is left on the walls, and you knew two of the victims.' He yells at her in frustration.

Both of them have reached breaking point. They are standing close enough that if she wants to kiss him she can. But they are yelling hurtful words to each other. He has become the interrogator and she, the interrogated.

'How dare you.' She seethes, shoving her shoes on. Her skirt is barely zipped up, and the buttons on her jacket are done wrong. 'How _dare_ you accuse me of killing those people!'

She slams the door behind her, and by passes the elevator. She storms past the complimentary tea and signals an oncoming yellow taxi.

'Where to miss?' the driver asks. She gives him her address.

She sways with the moving car, and feels the dam burst. Hot angry tears fall, and she can't stop them.

'A fight with your boyfriend?' The driver asks, peering at her through the rear view mirror.

'Ha!' She barks. 'Like he could ever be my boyfriend.'

'Yes miss.' He says.

The rest of the ride to her apartment is silent. She pays him and stomps up the stairs, giving her neighbors something to talk about, as if her returning to her apartment in the state of her attire she wore yesterday wasn't enough.

She fumbles with the keys to the door.

'I'm home!' She announces as she steps through the doorway, then remembers that Yuzu has an early morning lecture. She throws her keys at the small table, but misses by a mile. She doesn't care. Her new heels are kicked off and left around as a tripping hazard.

In the kitchen, there are freshly baked muffins and a note left by her sister, asking her how her night with Mr. Hitsugaya was. She decides for the first time in her life to pass on Yuzu's cooking, and grabs the kettle to fill it with water. She turns it on and leaves the kitchen for the bathroom. She strips and throws her clothes at the wicker laundry basket.

She stands under the faucet, and cries for her stupidity. For even thinking she could trust him. For liking him. For kissing him. For sleeping with him.

She punches the tile at that thought, and hisses as she cuts her knuckles. She watches the blood fall down her arm, and then go down the drain.

She scrubs herself raw. She wants to remove his scent completely from her body. She doesn't want any reminders of him.

Of the case.

Of _everything_.

She thinks about moving and resigning. Going back to school for a teaching job. Anything as long as it doesn't have to deal with dead bodies.

When the water looses its heat, she leaves the shower, and wraps herself in a fluffy house coat, and pads into the kitchen where the kettle is boiling. She pours the water into the teapot, and makes tea. She focuses on the project rather than think about anything.

As she waits, she moves to the kitchen table and sighs. She decides she can't resist her sister's cooking at all. She takes a muffin and bites into it, peering down the hall.

Her coat is thrown on a chair, her shoes, a tripping hazard, and her keys are in the center of the hallway. She pauses, distinctly remembering that her keys _were_ under the table.

A hand comes from behind her, and pushes her against the wall. Her head is thrown against the wall, and liquid is shoved down her throat.

'Hello Miss Kurosaki.' The man says in a cheerful tone. Her eyes widen and she tries to claw at him.

It's the taxi driver.

_No._ She recognizes him from somewhere else. Her mind clicks, he's the TA who had read her story and called her a nonfiction genius.

She thought of him as a few cards short of a full deck. But all TAs in her opinion were - trying to get a PHD - stuck grading student's papers instead.

She panics when she feels her muscles go slack, and she realizes that he had forced benzodiazepines down her throat. The Doctor said the level in the third victim temporarily paralyzes. But this dosage would kill her.

She tries to strain her limbs, but they fail to hit the greasy haired man as she hopes.

He picks her up, far easier than his pale skeletal body should. She gets the distinct odor of heroin and cigars from his baggy clothes. She can see the pin pricks in his waxy arms.

She is afraid.

_Very_ afraid.

She wishes she didn't leave her gun on the hotel room in her anger and haste when she stormed out of there, she had left her fully loaded gun on the desk.

'I wasn't going to do this.' He tells her sickly fond, as he lowers her on the counter. 'But you know. There's still seven more people.'

He holds her by her waist to stop her from slumping down the wall. 'What poem though…what do I leave behind?' He asks. His skin is stretched across his face as it twists into a cruel grin.

'Maybe this one. It seems befitting for you, Miss Kurosaki.' He clears his throat and leans close to her. 'They talk of short-lived pleasure-be it so-/Pain dies as quickly; stern hard-featured pain/Expires and lets her weakly prisoners go./The fiercest agonies have shortest reign;/And after dreams of horror, comes again/The welcoming morning with its rays of peace, /oblivion, Softly wiping out the stain,/Makes the strong secret pays of pain to cease.' He bring his hand to trace her face, 'Remorse is virtue's root, its fair increase/Are fruits of innocence and blessedness;/His young limbs from the chains that round him press./Weep not that the world changes-did it keep/A stable, changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to weep.' He finished the poem, and presses his lips harshly on hers. She is sick from his touch, 'It's sad that I have to do this, Miss Kurosaki. You were such an inspiration.'

Tears fall down her face, as she realizes what is going to happen to her. She doesn't know which is worse, dying and not knowing how and not expecting the torture that will come. Or dying, and knowing exactly how, and expecting the torture that will come.

He is bringing out the large nails made of the compound of iron and carbon. She sees a hammer, a mallet really, and a serrated blade.

'This will hurt.' He whispers in her ears, and he lines the first nail up with her elbow.

She anticipates the pain…

There is a loud noise, something wooden bouncing off another wooden thing.

'_Drop_ your weapon!' He's there, with his revolver locked and aimed. She can hear the steel in his voice and see the murderous expression on his face.

And then she sees red, the prettiest red she has ever seen in her life.

* * *

A/N Well, here we have second last chapter. This has taken to the whole other level due to the loving tender care of Moon-chan, or more well known as Moons of Jupiter. This is all due to her. I look forward to spamming her with all my further stories. Now, the car bomb in the previous chapter. For those…who have seen a bomb in real life…or know explosives, know that the Hollywood version of car bombs are very blown up. This is a small explosion, one that would burn the inside interior of the car, but not enough to destroy cars. Think a bottle of Axe in the fire, and the resulting explosion. That is what happened to the car.


	5. garland

It's not a good day.

True, the sun is shining, but the woman behind the desk is complaining into the speakerphone placed on the center of the desk.

'Karin, its oatmeal chocolate chip. Not raisins. Besides we ran out of macadamia nuts, I wanted to make you something for your first day back.' Her sister's voice is tiny and distant. She groans, and looks at the speakerphone.

'I know, I know. Thank you, they taste delicious.' She tells her a smile lingering on her lips. 'And it's not like I was gone for long. It's only been two days.'

'Two days since you were almost murdered by the psychopathic Teacher's Assistant!' Her sister states. 'I know everyone's explained it, but I still don't get it. He was a junkie?'

'Mmm, to the ninth degree. Aren't you a staff member at the Uni? You should know this.' She has cleared her desk and wall with photos of the victims, case closed.

The fed managed to solve the case and break the door to their apartment even more than it already is.

'The files for the University Committees helped right?' Her sister asks, 'I helped right?'

She smiles. 'You damn half saved my life. The files gave a link. The three of them served on the council to expel him.'

'I never liked him. He was…' Yuzu poked her tongue out and shivered.

'Yeah well, he was a total junkie. He was caught smoking up at the University and plagiarizing some stuff.'

'_Some_ stuff?'

'Everything's a bit vague at the moment.' She says with an unceremonious wave at thin air, 'But he snapped and he wanted to kill them all.'

.

_But ye, who for the living lost  
That agony in secret bear,  
Who shall with soothing words accost  
The strength of your despair?  
Grief for your sake is scorn for them  
Whom ye lament and all condemn;  
And o'er the world of spirits lies  
A gloom from which ye turn your eyes._

.

'And he remembered that story you wrote. It was so creepy.' Her sister sounds disgusted. 'So he thought that it would be an appropriate punishment.'

'Haven't you heard,' she quips, 'Killer nerd rage.'

The twins dissolve in laughter. A special moment bonds two sisters with nothing in common but blood and love.

'So…' Her sister started, and then stops. She's having a hard time finding words to address the day. 'Are you ready?'

She pauses and thinks. It's such a simple question, but so hard for her to answer.

'I will be.' She says finally. It's the truth. She isn't now, and maybe she won't be in ten years, but some day she will be.

'Good. That's good.'

She checks her watch, and realizes it's time. She bids her sister goodbye and hangs up as he enters her office with a cup of tea for her.

She takes it silently.

If this were a romance novel, when he came running in, to stop the TA from nailing her to the wall, he would have caught her as the TA fell from the bullet lodged into his back.

He didn't.

She fell, ungracefully and hit her head on the kitchen tiles. He didn't run to her, and hold her in his arms and promise her she would make it through this. Instead he arrested the TA, called and ambulance, and turned off the kettle.

She was taken away in a stretcher, not in his arms. She didn't see him at the hospital, when her stomach was pumped to rid the drug, and she was diagnosed with a slight concussion.

In fact she would have said that the night they had shared, and the kisses he stole from her had never happened, if it weren't for the fact that his vest was barely on as he pounded into her apartment. Or the fact that her colleagues had told her that, when Yuzu had brought him the files, he had realized what was going on and he couldn't contact her. He turned white, and drove off in the direction she headed picking up numerous tickets to find her.

But this isn't a romance novel. This is reality, and they are two people dealing with false accusations and hurt feelings. She doesn't know where they go from here, and he doesn't seem to know either. But the tea's a nice touch.

'How are you?' He finally asks breaking the silence that was suffocating them.

'Okay.' She says with a shrug.

She takes him in.

He is still tall, tanned, with casually windswept hair that she knows sticks up that way naturally. He is still dressed in a black designer suit, and his teal eyes are still smothering. She notices the slight bags under his eyes, and feels a bit guilty.

'That's good.' He says, the conversation is awkward and the words they say feel dead.

'And you?' she decides to prolong the agony. She has always been a bit of a masochist.

'Good.'

There is another pause, and they just stare at each other, both waiting.

'Are you…are you gonna leave now?' She asks a little hesitant and unsure why she's asking this.

He nods. 'My flight leaves in an hour.'

She walks him out of the station. His expensive black rental Volvo sits parked beside her insurance rental.

'We need to talk, Karin.' She opens her mouth to say something, 'Not now.'

He quickly adds, 'But soon. There's, there's a lot of…things we have to sort out.'

'I know.' She says softly looking anywhere but at him.

'There's a position, available half an hour from here.' He tells her, 'I took this case, because I wanted to know the area.'

She looks up at him little surprised, 'And?'

He smirks at her. 'I think I'll adjust fine.'

She blushes and his smirk widens.

He kisses her gently, in a way he's never kissed her before then heads over to his rental.

'Good bye detective.'

'Later fed.'

He drives off, and she watches him leave.

Then she heads back inside the station.

She has a missing dog to find.

_fin_

* * *

A/N: Here it is the end. I hope I didn't tease some people (coughmeggie-moo scough) too much about the ending. Before I start some thank yous, I believe there is a topic that most of you who read this and reviewed wanted me to adjust.

The murderer: Taxi Driver/Teacher's Assistant. In my notes, I had at the start of writing this, months ago in April; the murderer was to be Aizen, which is why the victims were the Vizards. However, the weekend when I wrote this, I started second guessing my ability to write Aizen. That is something no one wants. I am not confident in my ability to write Aizen at all, therefore, I changed the plot line to a university setting. From there I created the nameless killer. That is the only thing that changed originally from my notes. Well, Aizen was to be a professor. Some of you might have wished I stuck to that idea, however I adore authencity, I research and gather material until I am completely satisfied that my knowledge on the subject is enough for me to write accurately. I could not in good faith write Aizen. However, this story was never really about the murders in my eyes. I wanted to try my hand at a Karin/Hitsugaya relationship, one where they are not hating each other, or one of them is dead. This is a learning curve, and I am anxious to return to the genre for the story that will come soon. I can't wait to write it. I've been waiting since April to write it, and it will be the sum of all my skills, for _Bleach_ fandom.

I have to thank everyone who decided to read, review, favourite or alert this. I cannot tell you how happy I was to get those emails. Also, a huge thank you must be given to my favourite beta and Aussie who I spam with this story, Moon of Jupiter. She honestly makes everything I write a thousand times better.

The title and poems you find come from the poem 'The Living Lost', by William Cullen Bryant.

I now, will be taking a short break to work on **Sodom Due**t with the lovely MarginalMary, coming in August, and 'Addict' which should be out in August as well.

Thank you so much for your support.

Suki


End file.
